


dyed in red

by moonravn



Series: dyed in red [2]
Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood and Injury, M/M, Magic, Modern Fantasy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, shapeshifter!keonhee, sorcerer!seoho, unnamed extras - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28828530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonravn/pseuds/moonravn
Summary: “Don’t you want to go home?” Dongju brings Seoho up, then—pulls him until he’s sitting and there’s blood running down his forehead—dry and yet flowing still—dry and yet painful—“There’s nowhere for me to go” A smile, bloody hair to Seoho’s face— “It wouldn’t have mattered if I died, you know?”
Relationships: Son Dongju | Xion/Yeo Hwanwoong
Series: dyed in red [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891399
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stay awake”

Seoho’s world loses colour and gains it all at once, a sharp hit at the back of his head and pressure on his chest that takes away his breath—tree bark scratches through his shirt and jacket, burn of friction down his back and up his spine staining _staining_ until he can feel blood drip drip _drip_ down—

He catches himself on the way to the ground, manages to land on his knees and dodge something quick—feels the burn burn of movement and sharp blades ghosting against the side of his neck as he pushes himself sideways, unstable, shoulder hitting the ground with a sharp noise and hand tearing tearing open from dirt and rocks and _friction_ —

A sharp noise to his left—he rolls, head hitting against dirt as he avoids a hand to his throat—his phone in his pocket buzzes, burnt of sensation that takes Seoho away a second, two—and then he’s back again, hands buzzing as he pushes off the floor, weak shield stopping a blow to his face—a current that pushes him back as his hands scratch scratch against the surface of the floor—

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of ash grey hair—Keonhee’s figure jumping backwards as he lets out a choked yell, right arm trapped in tight grip that bleeds _bleeds_ much like the cut on his forehead, the stab wound on Seoho’s leg that coats coat _coats_ in red—Seoho clicks his tongue, eyes back and following the sound of movement movement—

A hit, another, another—sharp claws that crack crack the shield—Seoho brings himself up, a breath through the pain, dodges _dodges_ and reaches for his pocket—head spinning on the stench of iron as his fingers slip on their hold, hand bloody and dripping _dripping_ and knife too close and too far far out of reach all at once—

A blow—sharp at his shins and down to his ankle—tear at his pants with sharp sharp blades and claws until he’s bleeding again _again—_ steady current that makes his head spin with adrenaline and the need to _run—_

Keonhee frees his arm somewhere next to him, heavy breathing as he steps away away—feet light and quick in a jump until he’s out of sight, bushes behind them and dead leaves swallowing his figure—

The familiar burn at the back of his eyes—Keonhee’s shifting _shifting_ —Seoho pushes, pain on his legs sharp enough he shouldn’t be able to _move—_

But he does, mutters a spell—fire and sparks sparks of lighting that burn and tumble—a second of bright light, enough for him to jump back and _run—_ run into the bushes, hands scratching scratching on tree bark and branches— blood steady steady where it flows into a path behind him—

A target—easy to track—especially for ones such as them, vampires with a thirst thirst for blood that seek liberation—

He falls on his knees—pain sharp as it runs up through nerves and ripples—spots the familiar grey-purple fur that is Keonhee’s chinchilla form—and any other day he’d tease the other about being _cute,_ about turning into such a tiny rodent with as much threatening aura as a _baby—_

Any other day, just not today—instead, he whispers out a quiet _here_ , a pat at torn up clothes with bloody fingers— Keonhee gives him a worried squeak, and Seoho gives back a quiet laugh, scoops up Keonhee’s injured form in careful hands—

“I’ll be fine” a whisper as he holds Keonhee close with one hand, uses the other to steady himself—a breath, two, the sound of footsteps and the stench of blood— “Will find a way to get out, just—” he pushes himself up, limbs a mess mess of shaking _shaking_ and breathing choked— “You—gotta get you to safety first—”

Keonhee does a quiet squeak—something weak—and Seoho feels bloody fur on his hands as he takes a step forward—two, three—

And then he runs, hears movement behind him that _chases—_ a sharp blade that hits at his arm, scratches and claws he jumps away from with dexterity of experience—muttered spells with magic that seems to be running out out _out—_

There’s a cliff—down to something hidden, down to something that’s a walked-on path of dirt and grass—Seoho breathes in, eyes hazy _hazy_ and glasses broken and digging into his skin in small small shards—

Keonhee clings to Seoho’s shirt with a weak bite, Seoho gives him a laugh, a pat through matted fur— “Let go, Keonhee” a wind spell that covers them—distraction as the vampires search search _search—_ Keonhee lets go, a squeak that’s choked up and almost a complaint—“Do you have enough—” and Seoho winces, a shiver of electricity up his spine as he curls in on himself, eyes falling closed a second—wet warmth of blood down his face and the back of his head—“to shift—”

Keonhee squeaks—bites at Seoho’s fingers— _no—_

Seoho breathes out, lets Keonhee fall on both his palms with a smile. “Figures,” a quiet mutter—he brings Keonhee up, breath hitching with every movement, world turning into haze haze as he remembers how to breathe—

He brings Keonhee close—contact against his forehead as he focuses past the pain—a second, two—a flash of light at the back of Seoho’s eyelids—

“Should be enough” and his shoulders drop, breathing something heavy _heavy_ as the world turns to nothing and back back _back—_ “Fly until you get to safety, okay? I’ll—I’ll just toss you—”

An indignant squeak of complaint—whether at being tossed or at Seoho giving his energy up for Keonhee—giving his safety up for Keonhee—Seoho’s not sure—

He ignores it, smiles at Keonhee at the same time the wind gives out—silence _silence_ as he focuses with eyes closed—there’s steps behind them, Seoho opens his eyes, unfocused on the cliff before them—

He whispers out a _bye_ and tosses—energy from nowhere enough that Keonhee falls out of sight—familiar sensation of shifting at the back of Seoho’s eyelids as he collapses, dirt and rocks and dry _dry_ branches sharp on his knees and hands as he hits the ground—burn of pain overwhelming and heavy heavy _heavy—_

Sharp movement, a current from nowhere—and then there’s a hand to the back of his neck, sharp claws to the side of it that draw out a pained gasp, hands gripping at dirt as he’s pushed down _down—_ until his glasses are digging into his skin further _further_ and he can taste blood blood blood and _dirt—_

A hand to the back of his shoulder—a pained cry from his own lips as he’s turned around roughly, dirt digging into open wounds at the back of his head, legs—arms held down _down—_

“Pest” a voice he doesn’t bother committing to memory—one of the vampires—a voice that’s weak and crumbling at the edges, something painful as they hold Seoho’s face down by the forehead—hold back injured legs that Seoho wouldn’t even be able to _move_ , anyway— “What the hell’s with you—”

Seoho laughs—teasing and cocky, world blurry through tears and blood blood _blood_ and broken glass—

“Once again—” Another voice, one that’s more pained—one that seems to be holding back from ripping ripping _ripping_ Seoho apart— “Just lead us to the castle, and you can live”

“No” together with a snort, bloody lips parted in laboured breathing—claws dig into his scalp, forehead—Seoho ignores it, shuts his eyes tight _tight_ — “Fuck off” and his throat scratches and burns—voice weak and strained as he lies there and thinks about how he might just _die—_ “Would rather you suck me dry” and his voice cracks on the last word, pressure on his limbs and head until he can almost feel them _crack—_

“Pest—” Seoho manages to get an eye open—sees sharp _sharp_ fangs and threat that dig _dig dig_ into his limbs—

It _burns—_

He breathes out—pulls at his arms and shifts and the world spins spins _spins—_

A sharp claw to his jugular vein—teasing, threatening, burning, burning _burning—_

Focus focus _focus—_ a soundless whisper with currents that run through his nerves—a strike of lightning to the hand by his throat—a wave of fire and air that pushes vampires away—enough that Seoho can scramble to his feet, only eye that seems to see _something_ blurred and painful as it leads him to another path.

He could always jump down the cliff himself—his body’s broken up enough the extra pain wouldn’t _process—_ but Keonhee’s that way, and he refuses to put Keonhee in any more danger—

So, he swallows, drags shaky legs to a run in the fraction of a second he gets—a strangled yell from his lips when something _something_ stabs at his side as he runs— trips and falls and gets up and it’s all seconds seconds _seconds_ of adrenaline that drives him until—

A blow, a sharp stab at his side again—blood that pools over the hand he has held against gaping wounds—blood that drips drips _drips_ down his clothes and skin _and—_

Sharp at the back of his head, neck— dirt into his respiration and out all the same, blood from his lips as his brain struggles struggles _struggles_ to stay conscious awake alert _alive alive alive—_

The sharp feel of fangs against his neck—the sharp feel of dying dying _dying—_

And then there’s sharp wind—a last bout of lighting to cold skin and a hit to the vampire’s head—weight off Seoho’s body in a second—

He turns himself around, searches searches _searches—_

And then his eye stops on a mess of purple hair—pale skin and torn _torn_ clothes that move with as much grace as they do sharpness—blows and cuts clean clean before he jumps back and in front of Seoho—

And the world is a blur blur _blur—_ noises and the feel of anything all too loud and drowned drowned _drowned—_ but Seoho feels a hand to his forehead, someone pushing off broken glasses from his face, careful and cold _cold_ fingers on glass shards in his skin—and then there’s a voice, something sweet that seeps through the mist and water and pain pain _pain—_

Noise, movement—loud _loud_ gusts of wind and a laugh as sharp as their claws—and the stranger over him bites at their own lip, hands careful _careful_ as he picks Seoho up on shaky arms and jumps back _back—_

And it’s all so _quick—_ breathing almost nothing _nothing_ over him and Seoho’s everything burning burning _burning and so painful—_

The stranger drops him back down—carefully settles him against a tree, cold hand to Seoho’s face as he’s looked at with worried _worried_ eyes—

“Stay awake” soft concern—and then the stranger jumps back and Seoho’s head spins again—world drowning drowning with the sounds of hits and falls and dirt dirt _dirt—_

The stranger comes back again, limbs unstable as he drags someone else along—a cut on his forehead bleeding murky red that he rubs away without care, blood that’s not his staining staining and bright bright _bright_ red—

“Hwanwoong” a choked-up voice—something strained next to him—the purple-haired stranger, Hwanwoong, turns sharply, claws digging digging _digging_ into cold skin at the same time he speaks— “What do I even—”

“Get us home safe” at the same time he ducks, kicks and elbows at another vampire’s face and side—

And then Seoho can’t see anything else—can only feel and see shaky shaky and _cold_ hands that rest against his face, neck— rough movements as his shirt collar is pushed aside—

The stranger close to him shakes, grip weak _weak_ as he leans down with red _red_ pretty eyes—

“Sorry” cold cold against his skin, fangs sharp on his neck, shoulder— “I’ll make sure you don’t die” quiet, quiet voice—hands on Seoho’s skin—sharp sharp pain _and_ —

And then they bite down, hands sharp _sharp_ on Seoho’s wounds and skin and and and _and—_

Seoho manages a noise—something gargled and pained with spit and blood and tears _tears_ all over his face and _and—_

The world loses colour—blurs into nothing nothing _nothing_ as Seoho cries—


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re okay”

It hurts—teeth to his skin, blood from gaping wounds—broken flesh and the smell of blood—

(“You won’t die” _Seoho’s going to die_ — “Don’t sleep” _Seoho wants to sleep—_ “Stay awake” Seoho doesn’t _want to—)_

A flash, movement—broken bones and broken voices—Seoho can’t process them—Seoho can’t process _anything_ , can only feel tree bark that _digs_ into his injuries _—_ can only feel the ghost of desperation and the pull of nothing nothing _nothing_ as his thoughts and blood spill spill _spill away and—_

(The stranger pulls away, skin cold cold _cold_ and eyes red enough to be _terrifying—_ blood down parted lips and Seoho’s skin, rivers of red as Seoho’s voice fails fail _fails fails_ —choked and desperate as he tries to _just—)_

Seoho wants to sleep—and it would be easy to, easy to simply give in and _fall,_ listen to the pull and the screaming of the end end _end_ that won’t leave him _alone—_

But Seoho knows he shouldn’t sleep— Seoho knows that if sleeps there won’t be tomorrow—Seoho knows that if he sleeps, then—

(“Drink” A soothing voice— cold fingers to his lips—)

Seoho doesn’t want to die.

(“Don’t sleep—drink” And the taste taste _taste_ of something like _metal—_ rust to his senses and down his throat, rust on his limbs and up through his windpipe and to his lungs—)

He doesn’t want to die—He doesn’t want to die—

He’s all alone in this world, but he _doesn’t want to die—_

(“Good—” and cuts and skin and _tears_ burning burning _burning_ like the world and everything and Seoho just _won’t stop crying and—)_

He’s not alone (he’s alone)—He’s not alone, he’s never been alone (he’s all alone—he’s always been always been _always been—)—_

He’s not alone, he has Keonhee—Keonhee would be sad—Seoho would be sad—Seoho could free Keonhee—Seoho could stop thinking—Seoho could stop _being and—_

(“You can sleep now” kind, gentle—cold touch to Seoho’s hair, to shattered glass in skin, to—)

Seoho could just _die—_

(He passes out.)

__

Seoho’s sure he should be dead—dead from blood loss and maybe more than one infection—dead from dirt that’s crawled under his skin and made a home where it shouldn’t be—dead from pain pain _pain_ that won’t leave him _alone,_ pain that overtakes all senses and drowns drowns _drowns—_

And then the feel of soft cotton on marred skin, the ghost of warmth at the tips of his fingers— frozen breath to his neck, infinite care on cuts that are covered in bandages—warm water stained with blood, dirt, _life—_

(“ _Shit—”_ the same voice as earlier—high, cute—Seoho distantly remember his name is _Hwanwoong—_ Hwanwoong’s hands slip on his skin, the scratch of ragged nails to remnants of glass in Seoho’s skin—

Seoho hisses—chokes out a noise that doesn’t become words—

“Be _careful_ ” and this voice is softer, lower—a quiet murmur that Seoho feels against his hair—)

At some point, he realizes he’s not outside anymore—

There’s something like a bed under him, an old mattress with springs all destroyed and yellowed, worn-out covers—

There’s no light, no warmth—there’s a little candle by his side that turns on and off at will—there’s running water and the _pitter patter_ of rain—

(“I’m being careful” strained— tense hands to Seoho’s arm, healing magic that’s all too weak—

“Then what are you—” and a cough—the candle turns off again, Seoho can’t feel its warmth anymore—another cough, something choked, something _painful—)_

He tries to get an eye open, but the world stays black—he tries to get his voice out, but it only _betrays—_

(“I just need rest” Hwanwoong’s voice—a soft little thing that shatters at the edges—

“Bullshit” anger, frustration—human emotion alien and familiar all at once—footsteps across the room, next to Seoho’s bed, care to the wind as someone seems to cross, _approach, reach out—_

“I’m fine” and the world around them seems to shut down—blink and restart—a little barrier that falls apart together with a voice— “I’m fine, Dongju”

But Seoho can tell he’s not—)

The taste of dried blood on his throat— the smell of burnt flesh he can’t find a reason for—

Seoho sits up with heavy limbs and a choked scream—sits up with overwhelming nausea and everything hurting hurting _hurting heavy painful—_

(He falls off the bed and _screams_ , his own voice feeling all too foreign as he tries tries tries to get up and get somewhere somewhere somewhere somewhere and he _needs to throw up and—)_

His head hurts—his head hurts his head hurts and he can’t fucking _see and—_

(The sound of someone running—dirt on Seoho’s knees—bile up his throat and blood on the floor— stabbing headache and stabbing pain and and _and and and—)_

His head hurts and the world _spins—_ he throws up on the floor, stains his hands and clothes and _everything—_ there’s a hand to his back, broken breathing by his ear, kindness as his brain gives up up _up again—_

(Consciousness leaves him like a flowing river—all too violent as it takes takes _takes_ everything in its path and more—

He vaguely remembers being helped back to bed—vaguely remembers the soothing voice he’s come to know as _Dongju_ on his ears—)

“You’re okay”

(He’s not, is he?)

__

The next time he wakes up, Seoho can finally see colour—

(It’s not that he couldn’t before, not exactly— it’s just that he couldn’t really _see_ anything, vision all too lost to the numbing and mist of _pain—_

Colour and clarity are a welcome change.)

But something’s off—

He blinks, tries too—feels weight and something _missing—_

It’s _heavy,_ but he manages to bring his hand up—manages to get it to fall over dirty bandages, feel the texture of dried _something_ as he feels around—

“I couldn’t recover that” Dongju’s voice snaps Seoho out of his thoughts—has him looking up and to the side with a hazy eye. “Sorry”

“That?” Seoho’s voice feels _hoarse—_ scratchy and _painful_ on every nerve. Dongju frowns, all pretty and looking almost _guilty_ as he lifts a hand up in a vague gesture towards Seoho’s face.

“That” Seoho makes a questioning noise, Dongju sighs—bites at his lip with sharp fangs. “Your eye”

“My eye?” Seoho touches at the bandages—focuses on the material, focuses on feeling and _seeing—_

_Oh._

“I tried—" Seoho swallows—feels around his dead eye as he nods, vision focused on nothing and nausea ghosting up his throat. “Just—I managed to, like, _rebuild_ it, but—”

“Oh” Seoho blinks—his working eye fuzzy and air all too _suffocating—_

“I don’t” Dongju lets out a noise—something frustrated, guilty, guilty, _guilty—_ “Even with your blood I don’t—couldn’t do it, I’m sorry—”

“It’s not your fault” Seoho feels on autopilot—feels reality wash over him—feels the weight of time and worries as he seems to awaken awaken _awaken—_

“It is” And Seoho’s throat feels _dry,_ his tongue a heavy weight past his lips as his thoughts and memories all settle settle _settle—_

“Thank you” quiet, _foreign—_ Seoho doesn’t feel like himself yet—doesn’t feel like his words are his own, like his body is his own, like his—

“Thank you, too” and Seoho manages a glance—manages to _process_ , vision in colours and shapes until it all forms into _Dongju—_ Dongju, who Seoho’s only seeing clearly for the first time, who’s sitting in a wooden chair with old but pretty clothes in blacks and reds—who’s looking at Seoho with enough worry Seoho thinks he really might have _died—_

(Because no one’s looked at him like that in _so long—_ because he’s only had Keonhee by his side for as long as he can remember—because because _because_ he never looks at Keonhee and never looks at anyone and because Seoho’s been alone in forgotten company for so _long—_

He’s not used to seeing—to taking, _accepting—_ but he can’t look away.)

“For what?” a little laugh—one that hurts and burns like _fire—_ one that brings Seoho a little bit closer to himself, to breathing, to—

“Your blood” A huff—as if it’s something _obvious,_ something Seoho should’ve known—

“Did you—” He brings a hand to his neck, touches around messy cloth that serves as bandages, touches where the fog of memory seems to _call—_ “take some, or?”

“Yes?” and Dongju stands up, crosses over the bed— “You don’t remember that?” concerned, pretty, _concerned—_

“No” and Seoho wonders why, then, he remembers Dongju’s name— why the pain blurred it all except for him, for _Hwanwoong—_ even though he doesn’t know them at all—

(Seoho’s lonely—maybe that’s why.)

“Do you remember your name?” Dongju’s hand to Seoho’s face—to his forehead—all too cold and all too grounding—

“Yes” Seoho smiles, still, _Lee Seoho_ spinning and spinning until it comes from his lips—quiet and sure and unsure and—

“That’s what your ID said, I guess” and Dongju sighs, relieved—sits back on the chair and grips at the end of his sleeves— “Do you remember anything else?”

“I’m not _amnesiac_ ” a huff as he sits up, lets his legs fall off the bed—all too heavy and too light as he _wonders—_ “I remember your name, too”

“I never told you that” Dongju blinks—grey eyes wide and pretty— “How would you know it?”

“I’ve been here a while, right?” Seoho shrugs—lets his eye wander off Dongju and to the covers under his hands—to stains on the floor he can vaguely remember are _his_ fault, vomit and blood and countless days of _pain—_ “I heard you guys talking” a crooked little smile—pain at the corner of his eyes from wounds that won’t heal, not yet—from scabs and scars that form and fall apart— “You and Hwanwoong—I had nothing else to listen to”

“Ah” Dongju pulls at his sleeve again—nervous eyes and curious voice. “You never said anything, though.”

“I couldn’t” he shrugs again, swings his legs—tries to get feeling back, tries to remember to _function—_ “Still hurts to talk”

“Why’re you talking, then?” Seoho cocks his head to the side—lets it fall a little more—feels hair to his eyes and feels darkness to his right—

“I want to” a smile—he straightens up again, watches as Dongju’s eyes dart to the door—to a sound so faraway it might as well be _null—_ “Why’re you on your own?”

Dongju doesn’t reply—only parts his lips in silence—closes them again, expression a careful neutral that’s almost ethereal.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” after too much silence—after the sound of something falling above them— muted screaming and the colour of pain.

“Why would we?” Dongju only stares—incredulous—face twisted into worry, frustration—

“You’re vampires, right?” Seoho’s head hurts—weak stabbing pain to the back, to the front—

“Well, yeah, but—” and Dongju bites his lip—and there’s the flicker of _something,_ outside turning to nothing and coming back— Dongju’s breath hitches, he grips onto his sleeves tighter— “Still—why would we?”

“Vampires were trying to kill me” he grips at the bedsheets—lets go. “I thought that’s just what you did— for blood and all” a shrug—eyes to the window as it all flickers again—

“I don’t kill” a little tense—a little wound up—the ghost of a cry when Dongju’s eyes fall closed— “And Hwanwoong doesn’t drink human blood” and his voice goes quiet _quiet—_ almost fades into nothing together with magic outside—

“Shouldn’t he?” Dongju bites at his lips, clasps his hands together in front of him—looks at nothing with lost _lost_ eyes—

The barrier outside flickers once, twice—thrice and it’s gone.

“He should” Dongju stands up, pushes Seoho back down on the bed—familiar cold of his hands to Seoho’s forehead and neck, to his shoulders and over worn-out clothes. “But he doesn’t”

“Why?” and Seoho lets his eyes fall closed—shrouds left in darkness like his right—feels the wave of a headache and the needles of pain when Dongju’s hands come to his side—to dirty bandages and muttered spells on skin—

“I don’t know” Dongju pulls back the bandages—lets his hand fall on Seoho’s skin—on magic that keeps him together— “You’re a weird human, aren’t you?”

“I get told that a lot” and there’s a wet cloth to Seoho’s skin—there’s the cleaning of blood and there’s rivers of magic—there’s cold sensation that makes Seoho shivers, makes him hold back tears and laugh through the pain— “Why, though?”

“You’re talking a lot” as Dongju finishes putting the bandage in place—clips it together before he sits back and lets Seoho fall— “You’re not asking to go home, either” and then his hands are on Seoho’s face, up to his hair— “or scared, or anything like that—” and he pulls of dirty bandages—runs cold through dried up blood, colour mixed in with the dark red of Seoho’s hair— “It’s weird”

“Is it?” Dongju runs his hands through Seoho’s hair— bangs matted together and falling on his skin— “Why?”

“Don’t you want to go home?” Dongju brings Seoho up, then—pulls him until he’s sitting and there’s blood running down his forehead—dry and yet flowing still—dry and yet painful—

“There’s nowhere for me to go” A smile, bloody hair to Seoho’s face— “It wouldn’t have mattered if I died, you know?”

“…Why?” Dongju stops, drops cloth to the bed and just _looks_ at Seoho, eyes a pretty red and lips in a frown. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s true” Seoho lets his eyes fall open—right still unseeing and left with the ghost of red. “But I’m fine like that.”

Dongju doesn’t comment further—focuses on cleaning up again—on little cuts and bruises that refuse to close and heal—on the sound of something _broken_ that seems to _haunt—_

“Who keeps the barrier outside?” Seoho’s head spins—hurts and drags him to sleep, to rest—drags him to run from the pain—

“Hwanwoong” and Dongju’s standing up, leaving rags and water aside as he fixes his clothes—

“Is he okay?” and the barrier comes back—flickers a fourth and fifth time before it stays—Dongju frowns, pulls on the button on his sleeve all too aggressively—pushes it down with a breath—

“I don’t know” quick—and then he stops, grabs at his sleeve again—looks at Seoho with broken eyes that fade to grey—

Silence—Seoho feels the tug of sleep, sweet and numbing as it pulls him away—

“He’s not” quiet quiet _quiet—_

Seoho doesn’t know if he was meant to hear—if he was meant to reply or say nothing at all—

And he falls asleep with that doubt on the tip of his tongue— falls asleep to Dongju’s worried gaze and the flicker of magic above. 

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/frosmxths) // [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frosmxths)


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